Drowning in money

If you came into a fortune all of a sudden, how would you spend it? And if you knew that your world as you know it was about to disappear, what would you do with the time you had got left? For most of us, these are two theoretical questions with which we entertain ourselves through long hours of procrastination, while stuck on a very long flight, or during an especially boring evening at the pub. But for the people of Tuvalu, a tiny state comprising nine islands in the South Pacific, these are the only two questions that count.

In 1999 Tuvalu, with its population of 11,000, was the third-poorest state in the world. But suddenly salvation was found, and from an extremely unlikely direction. Tuvalu received a domain name on the internet, which was none other than the letters “.tv”. A communication company from California was quick to get in touch — buying the domain for the bargain price of $40m. For the Tuvalans, with an average annual income of about $1,000, this was a life-changing sum. The islanders became, or at least reacted as if they had become, very rich.

This sudden wealth was accompanied by a firm forecast of doom. The people of Tuvalu became aware of a dark shadow looming over their very existence. Due to global warming, and because the islands are only 3m above sea level, Tuvalu is likely to be the first state in the world to be submerged by rising water levels. According to scientific estimates, the islands will be severely flooded within the next 15-20 years, and by the end of the century, the islands will have disappeared from sight altogether.

Signs of the catastrophe awaiting Tuvalu are already apparent on its slender ground. Ponds of seawater appear here and there, stretches of beaches are swallowed by the waves, the roots of trees are rotting by the ocean. Cyclones, which used to hit the area as rarely as every 15 years, now appear a few times every season, and the rains they bring cause temporary floods. But still, the Tuvalans had their newly acquired money. With that they could buy themselves future. Or at least borrow more time.

Paul Lindsay, a documentary film-maker, took these questions with him all the way to Tuvalu, and came back with a story that seems almost too metaphorical to be true. Defiant in the face of the rising water, the Tuvalans are using the windfall to develop the land that is soon to disappear. Buildings are being raised, nightclubs, restaurants and hotels are being planned and built, newly bought cars are cruising on newly laid roads. The residents do not think it is strange: “Just because we are sinking, it doesn’t mean we don’t want to raise our standards of living,” Lindsay was told by Sam Teo, Tuvalu’s minister for natural resources.

Of the $40m raised by the internet deal, $10m was used to asphalt the islands’ 19km of roads. Before 1999 there were four cars on the islands. The Tuvalans used to walk or cycle everywhere. The minister for natural resources, who was in charge of paving the roads, owns one of the two petrol stations on the main island.

The motor revolution accompanied a wave of other imported foods and goods and soon had an unexpected consequence. Many Tuvalans, having given up their daily exercise, were introduced to obesity, high blood pressure and diabetes. Others discovered that the maintenance of their vehicles was far beyond their means, and that the luxury itself is hardly necessary in a state that is just 26 sq km. A huge area at the centre of the tropical paradise is now covered with abandoned cars and other rubbish. “I see it and feel disgusted,” says the minister.

Other islanders speak of the loss of community spirit. “People used to give you things you needed for free,” says Eseta Penatuse. “Now everything is worth money. People are ashamed to ask their neighbours for things.”

For a while vast amounts of money were spent in an attempt to raise international awareness of Tuvalu’s predicament. Tuvalu joined the UN, at a cost of $1.5m a year. In diplomatic terms membership is not that expensive, but renting an office in New York is. The delegate to the UN is the prime minister’s brother, and the Tuvalan delegation was especially active in promoting the Kyoto protocol to fight global warming.

Another politically daring idea was raised by the former prime minister Koloa Talake. He pushed a plan to sue the US (the biggest polluter in absolute values) and Australia (the biggest polluter per capita) in an international court, for causing the global warming that is bringing about Tuvalu’s predicament. Such a bold enterprise might have put Tuvalu on the international map of environmental struggle, but Talake’s initiative was choked, not by international opposition, but by Tuvalans themselves — they voted him out of power. The prevailing public sentiment was that Tuvalu couldn’t afford the kind of legal representation that is needed to take on the US and Australia in a court of law.

In Tuvalu people felt that too much money had been spent on diplomacy to no avail. They wanted speedy development, hoping to enjoy the money that comes into the public till. “Many self-righteous people in the West would judge them for giving up the fight. But all the Tuvalans wanted is what we all want: comfortable houses, cars, good lives,” says Lindsay. Talake was not the only prime minister to be replaced: Tuvalu has had three election campaigns and three governments in the past five years. But while the political system wrangles over the best way to face the rising tides, the sea keeps going up, and the dollars keep drifting away.

The problems, writ large for the government, are no less pertinent for individuals. Joe Malafea, a bubbly and diligent hotel owner, was convinced that the islands’ predicament would bring about a sudden rush of eco-tourism. He decided to get ready for the visiting hordes. He wanted to build a cafe, a bar and a bakery on his ancestors’ burial grounds. To complete his venture he was even willing to dig them up and bury than in one common grave, to gain more space. Malafea died a few months ago of diabetes, before he could see his vision come true — or his fantasy sink into the ocean.

Neither was he the sole entrepreneur in Tuvalu. The Penatuse family vowed to give up their successful fishing business after they lost one of their sons to the sea. After the traditional memorial service, they started building a night club, the first of its kind in Tuvalu. Sol Oseni Penatuse, who leads the enterprise, had suppressed the thought of the rising water with partial success. When asked about it, standing on the dance floor of his soon-to-open disco, he seems startled. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “it is really a problem . . . Maybe I will drown with all the money I spent here.”

But all Tuvalans know that they are not likely to die of old age on their islands. What to do otherwise is trickier. Mass immigration to the nearby island of Kioa, populated with expatriates, is out of the question, due to its refusal to absorb any more newcomers. Australia is far from enthusiastic about letting Tuvalans in, and New Zealand agrees to absorb them on the basis of an annual quota. The hope of keeping the tiny nation as one community after the flood is highly unlikely.

After the eight months he spent among the Tuvalans, Lindsay is not sentimental about white sands and turquoise waters. “There are no more paradises. Tuvalu is struggling to keep its sense of social solidarity in the face of progress. Nowadays even paradise comes with a price tag”.